Three Months
by trallgorda
Summary: Jonas' life between his arrival on Earth and his joining SG1.
1. Chapter 1

Jonas' life at the SGC between his arrival on Earth and the three months before being assigned to SG-1.

1

My first impression of Earth was noise, both visual and aural. As soon as I cleared the event horizon I was certain that I was going to be sick. The spinning, twisting wormhole was enough to make anyone sick, but the sudden re-stabilization of the world at the end nearly made me fall. My balance was incredibly off, and it was impossible to tell if my feet were on the floor or the ceiling.

Fortunately, there were other things to distract me. There were red lights flashing, sirens blaring, and more than a dozen men standing at the bottom of the ramp with all weapons pointed at me. I froze, wondering if I was about to be shot.

"Stand down!" I heard someone say over an intercom. A moment later an older man with no hair entered the room, and he came right up to me.

"Um, I'm Jonas Quinn," I said quickly. "I came—the Council—I couldn't…" I seemed to have lost all abilities of coherence. "I couldn't let the Council blame Dr. Jackson for what happened, and they told me in no uncertain terms to shut up. So, I took what naquadria I could and I came here."

"I'm General Hammond," he said, giving me a curt nod. Was he angry with me over Dr. Jackson's condition, or was he usually this way? I had no way of knowing. "Sergeant, please deliver the naquadria to Major Carter and Mr. Quinn, your arrival necessitates a trip to the infirmary for you."

I nodded. "To see if I might be carrying anything. I understand."

"Also to see if there are any residual effects of naquadria radiation," he told me. "Lieutenant Williams here will escort you."

Escorted I was, and I was taken to a medical facility that was deathly quiet. Usually, I knew such places to be busy ones, so I asked why it was so quiet.

"Dr. Jackson," was all that Lieutenant Williams would supply for an answer.

I felt cold all over, and I shivered. "Has he…?"

He shook his head. "Not yet."

If anything, that answer made me feel worse. It should have been me dying from naquadria radiation, and not Dr. Jackson.

"I'm Dr. Frasier," a woman said as she came into the infirmary. "I've been told you're Jonas Quinn."

"Yes, ma'am," I said, falling back on all the old politeness engrained in me during my childhood.

"How are you feeling, Jonas?"

"Physically or mentally?"

That won a very slight smile. "Right now, let's just focus on the physical realm."

"Well, my stomach's in knots, I've got a headache the size of the university library, and I seem to have trouble taking a deep breath. Is this reaction normal for wormhole travel?"

"Or for a great deal of stress," she pointed out. "Okay, what I'm going to do now is a basic physical exam, and if you're all clear we'll be able to focus on other things, all right?"

The doctor herself examined me, and the whole process was very thorough. I hated to think what an in-depth exam was like if that was what she called "basic"! By the time it was over, I felt as if I'd just run through some sort of gauntlet. My throat and ears had been looked at, my heart listened to, my eyes checked, temperature and blood pressure taken, blood and skin and other samples taken, and I'd had an odd procedure done called an MRI. According to the doctor, it was a way of looking at my brain and spinal cord.

Dr. Frasier told me that I was clear for any diseases that might threaten Earth and I showed no effects of radiation poisoning, but she also told me that I was to receive a battery of shots that were called immunizations. They were meant to shield me from many diseases that I could catch from others on Earth. These shots were happening on General Hammond's orders. I endured quite a bit of time feeling like a pincushion, but at last I was freed from the infirmary's tender mercies and released to General Hammond.

I was taken to a room with a long table and quite comfortable chairs called the debriefing room, and there I was to tell General Hammond everything that had occurred. I was being recorded the whole time, and I was nervous. What if what had happened amounted to murder here on Earth and I was held responsible? What would go on then? I knew my problems were small in comparison to Dr. Jackson's, but I couldn't help worrying.

"All right, Mr. Quinn, we're finished," General Hammond said after what felt like several eternities of questions. "Thank you for what you've told us."

"Has it…helped?"

"Extremely," the general assured me as another man came in. "Now, I have other duties to attend to, but I would like to introduce you to Dr. Mackenzie."

"But I thought the infirmary said I was clear," I said, confused. "More tests?"

"Dr. Frasier said that your tests indicated that you were in reaction from a great deal of mental stress and fatigue," Dr. Mackenzie clarified. "I'm here to help you work through that and to make a psychological evaluation. Don't worry, none of it will hurt."

At the moment, I did not feel ready to talk about anything that had happened, but some part of me felt that their continued goodwill depended on my cooperation, so wearily, I agreed and went with Dr. Mackenzie to his office. There, I was asked to re-tell my experiences and to describe how they made me feel.

"I don't think there are any words for that," I said, trying very hard to keep calm. "Dr. Jackson has pretty much given his life for the people of Kelowna, and I just stood there and let him do it. I'm Kelownan, I should have tried to do something!"

"You're experiencing survivor's guilt," he told me after a moment of thinking about what I'd said. "Everyone experiences this after situations like what you've been through. Your feelings are normal, but let me tell you something: What you did was normal."

"What, behaving like a coward?"

"No, self-preservation is normal, but how often have you had to face the choice to give up your life for others?" When I didn't answer he continued. "You see, Dr. Jackson has taken such actions in the past to save others, and I suppose what's most remarkable is that he has lived as long as he has. For him, such actions are as natural as breathing. It is normal to feel that you should have done something to make some sort of difference, and it is more than normal to feel badly about Dr. Jackson's condition, but you cannot allow these feelings to consume you. Accept what happened, but don't allow it to define you."

"He's dying!" I snapped, rising from my chair and pacing. "How can I not feel badly about that? I just stood there and let him kill himself!"

Dr. Mackenzie looked at me very carefully before he spoke. "What would you have done if he'd been trying to shoot or stab himself?"

"I'd have stopped him."

"And what if he'd succeeded?"

"He would have died." Where was he going with this?

"And what if you'd stopped him from going into that laboratory? After all, his going in there has had the same result."

That was when I understood. "Not only him, but countless others would have died as well."

"Perhaps the reason you hesitated in stopping him was that some part of you understood that, and that you were still coming to that realization. Stopping him meant saving his life only for a few minutes, but allowing him to do what he did saved many, many others. Also, your hesitation may have been you coming to the decision to do the same, but Dr. Jackson simply acted more quickly than you did because he'd been in such situations before," Dr. Mackenzie said, handing me a handkerchief to wipe my face with.

How long had I been crying?

"What happened was awful, Jonas, but that does not mean you are an awful person," he said kindly. "The fact that you are upset about it only means that you are a caring and thoughtful individual."

It was as if his words were some sort of release, and I spent more than a few minutes working those feelings out, as Dr. Mackenzie said. What he never told anyone was that I spent close to an hour crying like a child. I was deeply grateful for that.

What happened after that is a blur. I remember hearing Dr. Mackenzie tell Lieutenant Williams that I was exhausted and needed rest, so I was shown to quarters somewhere in the complex. No matter how many light years I was from home, a bed was a bed anywhere, and I fell right into it. Lieutenant Williams told me later that I slept for a few hours before waking up and asking to see Dr. Jackson. I felt that I should see him, try to talk to him and tell him that I at least appreciated what he had done even if Kelowna did not. Lieutenant Williams went with me to the infirmary, and once there, I asked Dr. Frasier if I could see Dr. Jackson.

"I'll see if he feels up to it," she said, looking surprised. "How's your head?"

"It's…fine," I said, relieved to realize that it was no longer pounding. "Oh, good."

She smiled and left, returning only a few minutes later to tell me that Dr. Jackson was awake and would like to see me.

"He…would?" I asked surprised. "He really would?"

She smiled again, and I could tell that if she and I would be able to spend more time together, we'd become good friends. "He really would. In fact, I told him that you were here, and he asked right away to see you. So, yes, he really would like to see you."

She showed me into a room with a good deal of equipment and a bed. In that bed, surrounded by ice packs and hooked up to the equipment, was Dr. Jackson. He turned his head to look at me, and he smiled. "Good to see you again, Jonas. How are you?"

This from the man who was dying!

"I'm fine, as are countless Kelownans, thanks to you," I said, approaching him. "So, how are you? Stupid question," I apologized a moment later, realizing the depth of my stupidity. "Sorry."

He shook his head. "Not a stupid question. I'm comfortable for the moment, but I'm wishing they would put me in a room with a better color scheme. It's boring in here."

"Aren't all the rooms in this place the same?" I asked, confused.

"Just about. That's the problem." He laughed, waving me closer to the bed. "General Hammond told me that you went to the Council and told them what happened."

"For all the good it did," I muttered, feeling ready to kick the Council myself. "They're still pointing the finger at you."

"So Jack told me," Dr. Jackson said, cracking another grin. "He was most displeased."

"Colonel O'Neill's dangerous to cross when he's angry, isn't he?"

"Oh, yes," he said, shifting among his ice packs. "But don't worry. I could tell that he was impressed with what you did, telling them what happened and then stealing the naquadria and coming here. Just don't expect him to show it for a very long time, if ever. Jack isn't one to share his feelings and it takes him a while to warm up to anyone, but eventually, if he and you spend enough time together, it will happen. Any idea what you'll do now?"

I shook my head. "No, not really. I can't go home, and I doubt I'll be able to leave the base since I'm…an alien. I'll help in any way I can, though."

"That's good," he said, closing his eyes and resting.

"Dr. Jackson?"

"Hmmm?"

"I'm sorry…that this happened to you. I shouldn't have let you do it. It should have been me that went into that lab."

He opened his eyes and looked at me. "In a way, I'm somewhat glad that it was me."

I stared at him, certain that his illness was making him talk that way. "Huh?"

"The Kelownans need a Kelownan to let them know that they are playing with fire," he said, smiling slightly. "All of the people of your planet must cease building bombs with naquadria and focus on uniting against the Ga'ould should they ever set their sights on your planet. With the naquadria, they run the risk of attracting their notice. Besides, I knew what destruction such a bomb can cause. That was why I was so quick to do what I did. You only have an abstract understanding of it, but this world knows. In the first half of the past century, two atomic bombs—weapons that had never been used before—were used in a war. It ensured that country's surrender, but they wreaked such destruction that the entire world was shocked. The trauma from those weapons continues to be felt today, and there are still people who are ill due to the radiation. Such weapons have never been used against another group of people again, and the fact that we have those weapons and that someone might use them is a constant worry not only for this country but also for the entire world. I would love for Kelowna and the rest of your world to avoid the same fate."

I didn't know what to say.

"Besides," he continued. "Death is only the beginning…" As I looked at him, I saw that he had fallen asleep, and I didn't want to bother him, so I left the room.

Lieutenant Williams took me back to Dr. Mackenzie, who wished to work with me some more. He wanted to make a full psychological evaluation and to administer some tests of his own. I agreed, if only to give my mind something to think about that was not Dr. Jackson and his imminent death.

I had no idea what those tests were, but they were interesting, and somewhat fascinating. I had to look at ink blots and describe what the patterns looked like to me, and I had to say the first word that came into my mind when I heard a cue-word. Then, I had to arrange pictures into a sequence that would tell a story and recreate a pattern using colored blocks. Also, I had to look at pictures and tell what was missing from them. In one it was a shadow, another was of a table missing a leg, and things like that. Then, I had to repeat sequences of numbers in order and in reverse order after Dr. Mackenzie had read them to me. Once that was done, he read words aloud to me and I had to tell him what they meant. That was easy. Then, I had to shade in parts of a marked paper with a pencil in certain patterns, work calculations, do more with number sequences, and answer several questions.

"Well, that's about all I'll need in that department," Dr. Mackenzie said, jotting a few things down that I couldn't read. What language was he writing in? I could already read English thanks to Dr. Jackson's loan of a book and an explanation of their alphabet, but obviously, this was something I couldn't read. "How are you feeling? Still shaky?"

"I talked to Dr. Jackson," I admitted. "I still wish that things could be different, but…"

"But you know you can't change that," he finished. "Good. Has General Hammond been to see you since your debriefing?"

I shook my head. "No. I think he's too busy thinking about other things to have time to worry about one scrawny off-worlder."

Dr. Mackenzie laughed at that. "Well, in the next few days he'll make time to see you. Count on that. In the meantime, what have you been doing?"

I confessed that I hadn't done much, but he told me that eventually that there would be something I could do. I didn't think there would be (after all, my planet was behind theirs technologically, how could I possibly help?) but I was going to keep my eyes open. Maybe there would be something.

Lieutenant Williams showed me back to my quarters, and I was there all of ten minutes before someone knocked on my door. I called for them to come in, and Major Carter opened the door. I got to my feet at once, surprised. "Major Carter."

"Hello, Jonas," she said kindly. "How are you?"

"Um…"

"I know, stupid question," she said, echoing my earlier conversation with Daniel Jackson. "Daniel practically ordered me to stop hovering around him and he reminded me that there was a confused off-worlder that everyone's practically forgetting in all the hubbub, so he asked me to come and show you around and see if you needed anything."

"Well, that's very…kind of him," I said, surprised. In fact, I was floored. How could he remember me when he was dying?

"Daniel's a kind person, as I'm sure you know. Are you hungry? They're serving supper about now."

All at once, I was starving, so I went with her to the commissary (with Lieutenant Williams in tow). Once we got there, she told Lieutenant Williams to take a break, she would be with me and there was no need for him to stick around. She would call him if he were needed. We got in line, and she handed me a tray and silverware and described the different types of food available. There was soup to start with (what in the name of Kelowna was chicken?) and an entrée called lasagna. Salad was salad anywhere, but some of the vegetables were very alien to me. Dessert was something called Jell-o (and I have to admit that I'd never seen food that shade of blue before), and for a drink she suggested that I have something called lemonade. Every taste of every food I had during that meal was incredible. I was eating alien food! Then, I remembered that I was the alien. Anyway, it was all new to me, and incredibly delicious. The lemonade was nothing short of perfection: sweet and tart at the same time, cool and refreshing. The soup was nice and homey with vegetables, broth, and noodles (those, at least, I recognized), and the lasagna was nice and tangy and full of flavors. The salad was an adventure. Apparently, I had spinach leaves, sliced cucumber, and chopped carrot in front of me, and all of those together were incredible.

"I don't think I've ever seen anyone enjoy salad that much," Major Carter said, digging into her Jell-o. "Let alone any meal that much."

"All of these foods are new to me," I pointed out. "And they taste incredible. You get food like this all the time?"

She nodded. "The commissary always has a full menu, and there's even a nutritionist who plans the meals to make sure they're healthy ones."

"So the nutritionist picks out the foods?" I asked just to make sure. At her nod I smiled. "I really like your nutritionist, then."

After we finished eating (and after I had second helpings of everything), she showed me around the base. She said it was highly likely that I would be staying there for some time, so she wanted me to know its layout and the facilities that were available. There was a lounge not too far from my quarters where I could sit and relax (and not too badly decorated, either), and there was a gym where I could exercise. She explained all of the equipment and then showed me where the men's locker room was. There I could shower and change and store my workout gear. She took me to the base exchange where I could requisition whatever I needed. On her recommendation I requisitioned workout gear, clothing, and toiletries. She helped me figure out what sizes I would need, and between the two of us we carted everything back to my quarters.

"Thanks," I said as she helped me put everything away. "I appreciate this, Major Carter."

"Call me Sam," she said, closing a dresser drawer. "Everyone does."

She seemed on the verge of saying something else, but Lieutenant Williams arrived and told her that she was needed in the infirmary, so she left me and told me that she would be back later.

I found out through rumors that her father had arrived then in an effort to help Dr. Jackson, but he had asked in the end to be allowed to…ascend? I didn't understand that until much later, but he was gone, and it seemed like the entire base was mourning. I kept out of everyone's way, certain that no one would want to be reminded of the coward who had cost them a good friend.


	2. Chapter 2

2

A week passed, and I was bored the entire time. Very, very bored. Still, no one was pounding down my door wanting to kill me in revenge for Dr. Jackson, so I guess that being bored was a small price to pay. What did I do during that time? Not much. I wrote in my journal, had my meals in the commissary, and I exercised in the gym. Beyond that, I didn't do much. Not much at all.

Have I mentioned I was bored?

Sam took pity on me and introduced me to the librarian and the base library. After that, I ceased to be bored and began reading. What books! They mentioned theories that were decades ahead of Kelownan physics. I spent days reading up on all the sciences that Earth knew. Ecology, botany, physics, meteorology, astronomy, anthropology, linguistics, and chemistry became my fields of study for the time being, and they were all fascinating enough to banish boredom. A zoology text introduced me to the flora and fauna of Earth, and most of the animals and plants were fascinating enough to keep me reading for hours. The largest treasure trove I found was the history section. I was able to read all about Earth's history and about the country of America. I found mention of Hiroshima and Nagasaki, and photographs of the destruction convinced me that Dr. Jackson had known what he was talking about. The destruction was more than I could have ever imagined, and I found myself thanking Dr. Jackson over and over again for sparing Kelowna and the rest of the planet from that fate.

What did I learn about Earth during all that reading? A lot. There was a lot of recorded history and there were many different types of people and cultures. There were elaborate systems of politics, economics, and information that affected all people in every level of society, and increased exposure to the world for people of small and isolated communities had been made easier through improvements in the mass media, migration, and transportation. The Earth was rapidly (and at the same time, slowly) going through a process called globalization, which meant that trade and communication was easier and the cultures of the world were slowly transforming into a new, multi-faceted culture that all people would one day share.

The greatest discovery I made was a selection of Earth literature, both what the librarian termed "classics" (meaning old and well-known) and "contemporary" (meaning modern and well-known). The librarian arranged for me to be able to borrow books and take them to my quarters to read, so every evening before I slept I read literature. Poems, stories, epics, plays, and novels were as satisfying as a good meal, and the new literature was just as exotic to me as the food was. New scenarios and adventures were just like new flavors, and the words and dialogue made up new feasts for my mind. Even when I didn't understand what I was reading (such as Shakespeare, anything he wrote I had to read twice before I understood it!) I relished it. It was as if I were actually seeing new worlds—which, technically, I was.

Two weeks after Dr. Jackson's death (or ascension), General Hammond called me to his office. Feeling no small amount of trepidation, I went, expecting at any moment to be called up on some sort of charges. When I got there, I found only the general. No armed guards or judge or anything I'd expected.

"I've been in contact with several people regarding you, Mr. Quinn," he told me, offering me a chair. "Quite frankly, we've had refugees in the past, but we've always managed to relocate them. In your case, however, relocation isn't really possible. We try to keep our émigrés and those we send them to as close as possible culturally speaking, and you come nowhere close to anyone we know of."

"I kind of figured that," I confessed. "Nothing happened right away, so…" I shrugged, unable to think of anything else to say.

"Well, you've been granted full asylum by the United States government, on the condition that you agree to remain on base. There are too many security issues at risk to allow you to integrate into the general population just yet."

"I understand. I was hoping that I could do something here to help in some way."

General Hammond nodded, taking his seat. "We were hoping for that. Our situation with Kelowna is still at a stalemate and it looks as if it's going to be that way for quite some time. We will need an insider's perspective."

I understood what he was asking me to do. By Kelownan standards I would be committing further treason, but in the long run, I believed that I would be doing them a greater service, so I agreed to provide any information that was needed in regards to Kelowna. In exchange, Lieutenant Williams no longer needed to accompany me everywhere, and I was allowed the use of Dr. Jackson's office.

"No one would…mind?" I asked, surprised.

"Actually, no," General Hammond told me kindly. "You see, since you're such a 'quick study,' we were hoping that you could acquire some of Dr. Jackson's knowledge by reading his books and notes. Once you have that knowledge, you'll be able to work with our SG teams by briefing them on cultures and languages, things like that. That is, if you would like to do that sort of work."

"Yeah, more than anything, but…you don't have to give me anything to do. Your government could just…stick me on a shelf for later until they need me."

General Hammond smiled at that. "In my experience, people are happier when they have work that they enjoy doing. According to what I've heard from SG-1, you and Dr. Jackson were like two peas in a pod."

That was a phrase I hadn't heard before. "Peas in a pod?"

"Ah, it's an Earth phrase, used to describe two people who are very much alike and who share the same interests."

"Oh."

"Those interests you have could be very useful to us, and they could give you a job here, if you would like it," he said, picking up a folder and handing it to me. "In this folder you'll find everything that your new position will entail as well as your regulations and rights and privileges."

I examined the pages within the folder carefully, but I learned very little new information from them. General Hammond had told me just about everything I needed to know already. I was guaranteed residency on the base with full use of the facilities and services there. I was not to leave the base unless escorted by approved Air Force personnel or if I left on official SGC business with an escort. My official position was the same as Dr. Jackson's, except that I was classified as "offworld/civilian consultant." I could live with that. I would receive a stipend for personal expenses and full medical and related care through the Air Force and US Government.

"This is great, General, thank you," I said, entirely grateful. "I appreciate it very much."

"It's entirely a pleasure, Mr. Quinn. Welcome aboard."

It was Sam who took me to Dr. Jackson's office and showed me around. All of his personal items had been stored away by that point, but all of his books, his notes, his reports—everything I would need to do my job—were all there. Also there were a few appliances that were quite interesting. One was a radio-tape-CD player, through which I could receive radio broadcasts and use to play tapes and CDs. The library had a large selection of these (for off-world teams to share with their new acquaintances) and I was able to obtain copies of several earlier Earth composers for listening. What music! Kelownan music was fairly simple in comparison, the fugue never having taken hold to a large extent. The other appliance was a television, on which I could watch movies, sitcoms, dramatizations, documentaries, news broadcasts, and any number of other things. Some I didn't understand, others were surprising, but the things that amazed me the most were the weather forecasts. It was like seeing into the future!

Sam explained the use of the computer to me and taught me how to use several programs and how the Internet functioned and how I could use it for research. The information available at my fingertips was astounding, and some nights I spent in the office, working and "surfing" the "web." Amazing. I discovered countless "websites" that were useful to me in my work, and I was certain that Dr. Jackson would have found them in the past. More than one dealt with archeology, culture, and other subjects that I was working with now.

I didn't spend all my time working. General Hammond, Teal'c, and Sam wouldn't allow it. They all made certain that I took breaks periodically. I had meals with Sam, talked with General Hammond, and exercised with Teal'c. When General Hammond insisted I have a weekend free, Sam did me an incredible favor: she took me on a trip off-base. I spent the entire trip there glued to a window, staring out at Earth and enjoying every moment of it. Highways, streets, buildings, billboards, and people, people, people. It was a large park that we were going to, she said, and we spent that entire day hiking, swimming, horseback riding, boating, and having a picnic with Dr. Frasier and her daughter Cassandra. The park even had its own zoo, so I got to see some of Earth's animals up close and even touch some of them in a small enclosure called a "petting zoo." Cassandra went with me to that, even though she said she was too old for petting and feeding animals, but I could tell she was having as much fun as I was. I was nearly mobbed by little quadrupeds known as "goats" when I had my hands full of feed. I'd had so much fun that day (and I was so tired from it all) that Sam told me I fell asleep in the car on the way back to the base. I can't remember just when I feel asleep, but I do remember partially waking up at some point, because I heard Colonel O'Neill's voice.

"Carter, where have you been all day?"

"Janet and Cassandra invited Jonas and I to spend the day with them at the park, and we're just getting back."

"You had fun, I take it?"

"Oh, yeah, lots of fun, but I think Jonas had a fun overload. He passed out in the car on the way back here."

I heard my car door open, but I couldn't move or open my eyes. I was too tired to even think, let alone think of moving.

"Aww," Colonel O'Neill said, standing right by me. "Reminds me of when we'd bring Charlie home late at night after a baseball game or something. Poor guy looks tuckered out."

_This_ was coming from _Colonel O'Neill_? No, I had to be dreaming. The only way it was possible for it to happen was in a dream. Colonel O'Neill would never say anything like what I'd heard. My over-tired brain had to be playing tricks on me.

"It's a good thing he's asleep," Sam opined, sounding very amused. "He'd be awfully surprised at the way you're talking, sir. You almost sound as if you like him."

I had to be dreaming.

"Who said I didn't?" Colonel O'Neill wanted to know. "He's not so bad. It's not him, really, it's me. It's just…I want to take my time getting to know him. That might take me a while. You know."

"I know."

_Was_ I dreaming?

I heard Colonel O'Neill move away then, wishing Sam a good night, and then I felt tapping on my face, which actually got me to wake up the rest of the way so I could go inside the base and "hit the hay," as Sam put it. When she saw my confused look she told me that it was phrase meaning, "go to bed." I hit the hay at Mach 2; I was so tired.

One other trip that I was taken on was to Washington D.C., the American capital, which was actually official SGC business. SG-1 had been asked to go to some sort of hearing, where they were asked to relate what they'd been doing for the past year. I went along because I could verify what had happened on Kelowna, and because, as General Hammond put it, SG-1 could show me off. Apparently, with my abilities as a quick study and my being an alien, I was an asset.

Unfortunately, I was also a curiosity to several scientists that the government had informed of my existence and imminent arrival in Washington. Directly after I had given my report to those assembled at the hearing and had answered all of their questions, those at the hearing introduced the scientists to me and told me that they were just "itching" to talk to me.

"Are they contagious?" I asked, confused by what had been said.

"It's just a way of saying that they really want to talk to you," Colonel O'Neill said, rubbing the spot between his eyebrows as if he had a headache.

"Well, I'd be glad to answer any questions they have," I said, eager to be of some help.

"As long as I go with you," Colonel O'Neill said. "After all, according to General Hammond, I'm responsible for you."

I agreed, but inside, I felt ready to kick him. Sam or Teal'c could have gone with me just as easily. He was acting as if I couldn't even answer a few questions without him along to keep me out of trouble.

I found out shortly that I was mistaken. An appointment was made for us both to report to their lab in two hours' time, and in the meantime, all of us would have lunch out at a restaurant in the city. It was my first time in an Earth restaurant, but my enjoyment of it was a bit marred by my misconceptions.

"Jonas, you want to be very careful," Sam told me after our waitress (a very pretty one) had taken our orders for drinks. "We haven't been able to confirm it, but we think a large number of those scientists you're supposed to be working with this afternoon are actually working for the NID."

"Huh?" I said, surprised. The NID was very, very bad according to the feeling around base. What could the NID want with me?

"Carter's right; that's why I'm going with you," Colonel O'Neill said as our waitress arrived with our drinks. He thanked her and she left, saying that she would be back in a few minutes when were done looking over the menu.

"The NID?" I echoed, still too surprised to think very much. "What—why would they ask scientists to talk to me?"

"They might be planning to do more than talk to you," the colonel told me. "They might be planning to kidnap you or try exploiting you in some way."

"But…why? They could find out all they want about me by asking for my file."

"Yes, they could, but you are from…out of town, and you'd be very valuable to them. You might know about technologies, you might have immunities that they could examine, and besides, you are who and what you are. That alone makes you valuable."

"You mean…" I lowered my voice. "You mean that they could be after me just because I'm from another planet?"

Colonel O'Neill nodded. "When Maybourne was with the NID he tried to swipe Teal'c away from us more than once for 'study,' and you're familiar with the Tollans and the situation they were in. I wouldn't put it past them."

"Now I'm glad you're going with me," I said, staring at my menu in confusion. "Thanks."

"No problem," O'Neill said, winking.

Had he winked?

"Teal'c and I are going to be close by as well, Jonas," Sam assured me. "We aren't going to let the NID get their grubby paws on you."

I grinned, imagining the NID with paws. Then, I looked back at my menu and realized that I needed more help. "Um…can you guys explain to me what all of this stuff is?"

Sam laughed, seeing my puzzled expression, and she told me that we were about to enjoy old-fashioned Italian food.

"Like lasagna?" I asked eagerly. "The cooks told me that that was Italian."

"This is the real deal," Colonel O'Neill said, smiling. "Real food, not base food."

"You mean food here gets _better_?" I couldn't believe it, but all of them found that remark highly amusing. Even Teal'c smiled, and he doesn't really smile all that often.

"Yep, it gets better," Sam said, taking a sip of her drink. "Let's see…I'd suggest the wedding soup, shrimp alfredo with linguine, and tiramisu. You'll love it, Jonas."

She was right. I'd found all of my fondest food dreams fulfilled in those dishes, and I finished every last bit of them. I even mopped up the last of the sauce on my plate with a piece of bruschetta, and I left a twenty for the waitress for bringing me the best meal of my life. Colonel O'Neill was surprised, but he said, what the heck, the girl was probably in college and tuitions were up. He added a ten.


	3. Chapter 3

3

Our visit to the lab was extremely uncomfortable for me. They kept on asking if they could take X rays or blood or tissue samples, and more than once I told them that the SGC already had plenty. Then, they wanted to give me a physical exam, and I told them that the SGC had my complete medical file and that they didn't need to give me a physical. I was perfectly healthy. They gave me another test similar to the one Dr. Mackenzie had given me, and it was meant to measure something called an intelligence quotient. The only difference was that there were endless questions for that one test, and soon I was exhausted from answering them all. They asked me all about Kelowna's geography, its people, and the technology that was there. (I couldn't tell them much about that, I said, I'd dealt in the social sciences, not technology.) Then, other questions started, and they were no end of embarrassing. They asked how I'd been born, what my childhood had been like, what my parents had been like, and what I'd been doing on Kelowna before coming here. Did I have siblings, had I ever had a significant relationship, or had I ever been physically intimate with another person? If so, what form did our relations take?

Colonel O'Neill came to my rescue at that point and he saved me from having to crawl under the table and die. He told them that that was none of their damn business and what did they think they were doing, interrogating me like that? What were they, peeping toms? (I didn't understand that reference, but I think it had to do with the last question they'd asked me.) He told them that we were leaving and that we wouldn't be coming back.

"Why did they ask me those things?" I asked, once we were outside and heading down the steps to the sidewalk. "They couldn't possibly have been important, could they?"

"Well, there are some people who study human sexuality, and they might have thought that since you're from another planet…" he let his voice drift off, and I understood.

Sam and Teal'c showed up then, and if anything, my embarrassment became worse.

"Are you all right, Jonas Quinn?" Teal'c asked.

"Yeah. Why?"

"Your face is very red. Was it over-warm in the building?"

I looked around for something to crawl under so I could die in peace.

"Rough time?" Sam asked sympathetically.

"Very rough," Colonel O'Neill assured her. "They were asking questions that I wouldn't even think."

Sam's eyebrows rose, and at that point, I was so embarrassed I couldn't speak. Did he _have_ to tell her that?

"Come on, let's blow this Popsicle stand," Colonel O'Neill said, leading the way to the car that Sam and Teal'c had rented. "I'm ready to head home."

We returned to the base, and I went about my daily routines, happy to be back. For the rest of that day and some days following, books beckoned to me from the shelves of Dr. Jackson's office.

--

I was given another trip off base when Sam found me passed out in Dr. Jackson's office one morning. I had been working, and the next thing I knew Sam was shaking me and asking me if I was all right. Apparently, I'd fallen asleep, and she mentioned that to General Hammond, who in turn reported it to Dr. Frasier. She called me to the infirmary, examined me, and then declared that I was to have the weekend off and take it easy.

I protested, of course.

I was fine, and I didn't feel sick at all, but to hear Dr. Frasier tell it, I was inches away from death by exhaustion.

"Daniel had the same annoying habit, too," she said, jotting a few things down in my medical file. "He'd work himself down into the ground if others didn't stop him. You are to have the weekend off, and it would be really good if you had a trip off-base."

"Are you going to escort me?" I asked. "I have to have an escort."

"That's where I come in," Colonel O'Neill said, entering the infirmary. "I have the weekend free, too, so I thought I'd offer to share it."

I stared, too surprised to think. "Um, if you wouldn't mind. I'd…I'd like that."

"Good, 'cause you don't have any choice in the matter. Dr. Frasier has spoken, and her word is law," he replied, twirling car keys on one of his fingers.

"About time you learned that, Colonel. It took you long enough," she said, jotting things down on a clipboard. "Have a good weekend, Jonas."

I didn't know what to think as Colonel O'Neill went with me to my quarters so I could pack a bag and get ready to go. I didn't want to know what he thought about my quarters. In the weeks since coming to Tau'ri, I had made my quarters my own little haven and sanctuary. With help from Sam and Teal'c, I was able to purchase several posters that were scenes from Earth's ecosystems. I had pictures of a lake surrounded by mountains, sand dunes in a desert, hills and trees covered with snow, an evergreen forest filled with mists and ferns, a rain jungle, red deserts and rock formations from the American desert, the New York cityscape at night, and the African savannah with Mount Kilimanjaro in the distance. Sam had gone even further by buying me a calendar as a surprise. In each picture were several buildings that had all been built in the same architectural style, and small captions at the bottom of the picture named the style, described its conventions, gave the buildings' locations, and the dates in which they had been built. Teal'c, seeing this calendar, bought me a large poster that fit on my door exactly, showing incredible houses of worship and temples from all over the world. My favorites were Angkor Wat, Notre Dame de Paris, the temple of Amon-Mut-Khonsu in Luxor, Byodo-in Temple in Uji, and the Great Mosque in Cordoba, Spain. I hadn't known that people could come up with such different styles of building. In addition to all the posters and pictures, I had a quilted comforter in shades of blue, dozens of throw pillows in bright contrasting colors, and several rag rugs on the floor. On my nightstand were several books, a small fountain that gave me the sound of running water, and a candle that I lit every night when I went to bed (it was a Kelownan belief that the small flame kept nightmares away, and I fell back on that old superstition since what had happened to Dr. Jackson). Instead of the bare room of bed, table, chairs, dresser, and nightstand, I had made the room uniquely mine. The room said, "Jonas."

"Woah," Colonel O'Neill said as I opened my door and he followed me inside. "You've been busy decorating."

"Well, I can't spend _all_ my time reading," I countered, hiding a smile. He was looking around as if he approved of what he saw. "Besides, Sam and Teal'c said it would be a good idea if I got myself used to all the different sights I could see during the course of my duties on Earth."

"So that's why this place is a poster museum? I like it."

I nearly dropped the clothes I had been holding. I hadn't thought he'd like it, let alone voice his approval. I busied myself in packing, changed into civvies in my tiny bathroom, and then told O'Neill I was ready to go.

"All righty, let's hit the road," he said, leading the way to the elevators. "What do you feel like for supper this evening?"

I thought about that. He was giving me a choice? Hmm. What was left I hadn't tried yet? A lot, I knew, but at the moment I couldn't think of anything. "Um, I don't really have my mouth set for anything tonight," I admitted. I thought it politic to give him his choice.

"Well, for me, Friday nights are usually order-in nights," he said as we reached his car. "We can order in anything you can think of. Burgers and fries, chicken dinners, Chinese food, Japanese food, Mexican, pizza, subs…anything at all."

I stared at him. "You mean, you can call someone on the phone, give them an order, and they'll bring it to your house?"

"Ya sure, you betcha," he said as he started the car and I buckled my safety belt. (One rule had been made completely clear concerning every trip: I had to use the safety belts, or I didn't get to go. I was glad to see that everyone else wore them, too. If they hadn't, I would have felt very much like a kid.) "I have some menus at the house, and you can look them over once we get there."

For a guy who didn't seem to like me too much, he seemed to be awfully nice. Perhaps he felt sorry for me? Maybe he was bored? I thought that was it, and then I remembered my "dream" from my first trip off-base with Sam. Maybe he did like me, but he didn't find it easy to show it. Hmm. I decided not to think about it too much; my head would start hurting.

The ride to his house was great. I glued myself to the window and stared at everything, and I loved the elevated streets that he called the highway. There were no houses, stores, or stoplights, but there were signs that directed the travelers on which way to go. We reached a suburb, and I saw kids playing in the yards on swing sets, jungle gyms, and trampolines, saw kids playing with dogs, and saw the adults doing yard work. I was so busy looking that it took me a minute to realize that we were there when we pulled into the driveway in front of his house.

Colonel O'Neill showed me the guest room, where the bathroom was, and then he showed me the kitchen. There, he let me look over the menus and I decided on pizza for supper. Pizza with pepperoni, mushrooms, sausage, black olives, and ham, and as soon as the pizza arrived Colonel O'Neill pulled out root beer for us to drink.

"How about a movie?" he asked as we filled our plates with pizza and added ice to our glasses of root beer. "You seen many?"

"Just on the TV in Dr. Jackson's office," I said.

"Well, I've got some DVDs," he explained as he led the way into the living room. "We'll see if there's anything you'd like to see."

Once we were settled in the living room, Colonel O'Neill showed me the shelves that held his DVD collection. On the back of each case was a small synopsis of the film, and I spent a short while looking them over. I decided on a John Wayne film called "The High and the Mighty," where he played a pilot of a plane that was full of people. Each of them had their own problems, but when the plane got into trouble all of them banded together to come through it. The best line I heard in that film was one woman saying to her husband, "I've always thought your brain would fit nicely in a demi-tasse." That, and the phrase, "dumb bunny." I laughed until I couldn't breathe, and even Colonel O'Neill laughed. He said that he'd never seen anyone laugh so hard before, but I could just imagine that poor guy's brain in a tiny coffee cup and a stupid rabbit that kept running into a tree.

After our root beer was gone Colonel O'Neill took two beers from the refrigerator and gave me one. I'd never had beer (I hadn't thought that the government would allow me to have alcohol, but apparently, I was allowed) and I wasn't sure if I liked the taste. We had something similar on Kelowna, but it was different from the Earth variety. Two swallows of it and I found that I liked it. When I finished off that one Colonel O'Neill offered another and I managed to finish that one as well, but I declined his offer of a third. Too much alcohol would give me a headache in the morning, I knew, and I was certain that my getting drunk would not raise Colonel O'Neill's opinion of me. Two beers were enough to make me nicely sleepy by the end of the movie, and Colonel O'Neill said it was time to hit the sack. Once again, I hit the sack at mach speed.

I don't know how many hours later it was when something woke me up. I lay very still in bed, not certain of what I heard, but I was sure that there was something wrong. My head was still fuzzy from the beer and everything was deadly silent, but enough alarm bells were going off in my head to let me know that I wasn't alone in my room. Someone was standing behind me where I couldn't see him and where he couldn't see my open eyes.

The back of my neck was crawling while I decided what to do. Finally, I decided I had to see who it was. (I hoped that it was Colonel O'Neill playing a joke.) I lowered my eyelids until I had mere slits to look through, and I shifted and rolled over, as if deeply asleep and dreaming. I moved my head about on the pillow, looking around my room. There, standing by the window, was a figure dressed all in black, and he was far too big and stocky to be Colonel O'Neill.

Ergo, it was stranger. A burglar, thief, or someone breaking into the house for some reason. I cursed myself for leaving my window open and opened my eyes, "waking up" and spotting him. I yelled loudly enough to make my throat hurt and I leapt from the bed to the door in the space of a second. Just as I got my door open I felt him tackle me and pull me back, but I hadn't gone through self-defense classes in school or defense training with Teal'c for nothing. I threw my head back, cracking his nose and driving my elbow into his stomach, shouting for the Colonel the whole time. He let go of me, but only for a second when the door crashed open, revealing Colonel O'Neill with a gun and a look of murder in his eyes. I saw a gun appear over my shoulder—the guy was preparing to shoot the Colonel!—and I shouted for him to run. He did, barely making it out of the way while I kept fighting. The guy whacked me on the back of the head with the gun, and I think I passed out, because I came to in a van with no memory of how I got there. My hands were in cuffs behind my back and I had a splitting headache, and as soon as I moved my head I regretted it. I groaned, certain that the guy had cracked my skull. Someone came over to me, looked at the bump on my head, and said that it was enough to knock me out and give me a headache, but that I would be all right.

"Who are you?" I demanded. "Why have you kidnapped me? What do you want?"

"We're just the delivery boys," the guy said, rummaging around in a pack for something. "We've been paid a lot of money to bring you in alive."

They were mercenaries, then. Interesting, and not a little bit frightening. Who would hire mercenaries to kidnap _me_? I wasn't anyone important. SG-1 would have been the ones to kidnap since they were all heroes, and from what I could understand, someone had been stupid enough to kidnap Major Carter some time before I came to Earth. Why was _I _the one being kidnapped? The guy finished fishing around in the pack as he pulled out a hypodermic needle and a bottle of something. I prayed that that stuff wasn't meant for me.

"What is that?" I asked, becoming very worried when he approached me with the filled syringe.

"Just a little something to make you sleep," he said, swabbing the side of my arm with an alcohol wipe. "Don't worry, it won't hurt you. They've already tested it safe for you."

"What do you mean?" I asked, trying to scoot away. I did _not_ want that shot! By this time I had worked my way into a sitting position and had scooted to the side of the van, leaning against the wall so I could look one of my kidnappers in the face. He was…completely ordinary and unremarkable. I supposed that in his profession it was an asset to be able to blend in.

He gave me a stern look. "Do I have to have someone hold you down while I give you this?" he snapped. "None of us take anything from our targets, I can assure you of that right now. You cause trouble, and we can make you pretty miserable. Now, we can do this the easy way and you take it, or I can call Cooper back here to hold you. Which will it be?"

"What do you mean by 'tested safe'?" I persisted. "I don't know what that means."

"It means what it means," he said, approaching me and grabbing my arm. "It means that they made sure this shot wouldn't hurt you or have any bad side effects. You act like you're from another planet."

By that point he had given me the shot, and it was getting very hard to keep awake. I thought that just before the drug took effect I had said, "But I am…I don't know what's going on…" but I could never be sure of that afterward. I slept, and when I woke up I felt as if I had been asleep for years. My head hurt, my entire body was so stiff and so _sore_ I had to fight against crying from the pain, and I was so thirsty that it felt as if my throat was on fire. Had I died and gone to hell? I wouldn't have been surprised if I had.

I was in a small, barren little room. There was the hospital bed I was in, a light above my bed, a table and chairs, an open door leading to a small bathroom, no windows, and a long mirror built into the opposite wall. I stared at that mirror, wondering why any room would need one that big. I had seen that type of mirror before, but where had it been?

I lay back in my pillows and tried to make sense of my surroundings. I remembered being kidnapped, so was this the place that the kidnappers had brought me? The realization that I was now a prisoner of whoever had hired those thugs made me sit up, my muscles crying out in protest. I had to get myself out of bed and way from there, but more movement on my part made me realize that restraints on my wrists were holding me to the bed. I was trapped.

I fought to speak. I tried swallowing, trying to work up enough moisture in my mouth and throat so I could make some sort of noise. Something short and pertinent so someone would know that I was in distress and come to help me. "Help" was the perfect word. Short and to the point and its message was unmistakable. Good. Feeling ready, I cleared my throat and tried.

"Ulp…"

Had that been me? Was that all I was able to get out? "Ulp"? I had to try again.

"Hulp…"

Closer! I was closer! I worked my jaw some more and thought about the most mouth-watering things I could to get more moisture into my thirsty mouth tissues. I thought about lasagna, ice cream, that shrimp alfredo I'd had in Washington, pizza, and I thought fiercely of lemonade, trying to fool my mouth into thinking that I'd just had a big glass of it and it needed to water in response to its tartness.

It worked! My mouth watered, I swallowed, and I felt life come back into my throat to put out the fires that had been making me so miserable. I took a few deep breaths, and for the first time I felt more like a human being. I was beginning to be afraid now. I had been kidnapped and brought to this place, and I had no idea where I was, who had me, why they had kidnapped me, or what they were planning to do with me now that I was here. My fear gave me the strength to shout.

"Help! Anybody! Get me out of here!"

Silence. Then, I remembered something I'd overheard during my time at the SGC. A group of SG teams had been in the conference room, listening to a lecture on what to do if they were kidnapped (or taken prisoner) and they had no radios with which to communicate. They had to make noise, say their names and that they'd been kidnapped and that their government would be ready to give rewards to get them back. The chance of a reward always made people more willing to talk, and once the SGC began to look for them, chances were higher they would be found if they made sure people heard them.

I took that advice to heart. "Somebody help me! I've been kidnapped and I'm being held in this building! My name is Jonas Quinn, and I belong at Cheyenne Mountain Air Force Base in Colorado! The Air Force would be willing to give rewards in exchange for information on where I am!"

My door opened, revealing a brightly lit hallway and a man in a gray suit. "That's enough, Mr. Quinn," he said, entering the room and closing the door behind him. "No one's going to hear you in here, so stop shouting."

I stared at him. "Who are you? Why was I brought here?" Then, I realized what I'd heard. "Why won't anyone hear me in here? People would have to be deaf not to hear me!"

"Because you're in a sealed room within a building. There's no straight connection to the outside from here. Also, there's no one in this building who will hear you and rescue you. They are all our people."

My heart started beating so quickly that it was painful. I sank into the pillows behind me, certain that I was going to have a heart attack in another minute. I took a deep breath, trying to get myself to relax.

"Problems?" he asked, taking a chair and placing it beside my bed before sitting down in it.

"I've been hit on the head, kidnapped, and drugged," I said nastily. "I wake up incredibly stiff and sore with my head aching and my throat on fire, and I have no idea where I am, who has me, or why. Of course I have problems!"

That creature actually unbent enough to chuckle. "Yes, forgive me. Of course those things would be problems. How silly of me not to think of them."

I glared at him. "You can stop laughing at me at any time, and you can answer my questions. Who are you?"

He actually threw back his head and laughed at that. "You make it sound as if _I'm_ the one being held prisoner! Amazing! 'You can answer my questions!'"

My hands were in restraints, but my feet were free. I lashed out with my right foot as hard as I could and clocked him on the jaw, but I wasn't able to put my full weight behind it. I didn't break his jaw as I'd been planning, but I did manage to knock him out of his chair.

"Don't do that again, or I'll have them come and restrain your feet as well," he snarled, getting up from the floor. "It would be in your interest to cooperate with us, Mr. Quinn."

"I can't imagine how," I snapped, fighting the urge to kick him again and completely forgetting that I was a prisoner.

"Well, I could have someone bring you something to eat and drink, as well as having a doctor come and take care of your hurts and ease your pain. I bet moving your leg that much was absolutely agonizing."

It had been, but I wasn't about to give him any satisfaction by admitting it.

"Why was I brought here?" I demanded, ignoring the implied offers he made. I was _not_ going to cooperate!

"Well, you're a rarity," he said, looking me up and down. "You look just like us, yet, you're from another world."

I felt the blood drain from my face as I heard that, and that one statement helped me realize a wealth of things. My memories of Washington came back to me in a flood, and I could hear SG-1's and my conversation while we'd been at lunch that day.

"_Jonas, you want to be very careful. We haven't been able to confirm it, but we think a large number of those scientists you're supposed to be working with this afternoon are actually working for the NID."_

"_Huh?" I said, surprised. The NID was very, very bad according to the feeling around base. What could the NID want with me? _

"_Carter's right; that's why I'm going with you." _

"_The NID?" I echoed, still too surprised to think very much. "What—why would they ask scientists to talk to me?"_

"_They might be planning to do more than talk to you. They might be planning to kidnap you or try exploiting you in some way."_

"_But…why? They could find out all they want about me by asking for my file."_

"_Yes, they could, but you are from…out of town, and you'd be very valuable to them. You might know about technologies, you might have immunities that they could examine, and besides, you are who and what you are. That alone makes you valuable." _

"_You mean…" I lowered my voice. "You mean that they could be after me just because I'm from another planet?"_

Colonel O'Neill nodded. "When Maybourne was with the NID he tried to swipe Teal'c away from us more than once for 'study,' and you're familiar with the Tollans and the situation they were in. I wouldn't put it past them."

That was the answer to every question I had. The NID. They had kidnapped me and brought me here, and they were the only ones besides the higher-ups in Washington and the people at Cheyenne Mountain who knew who I was, where I was from, and how different I was. It made terrible sense.

"You work for the NID," I said, staring at him, yanking at my restraints in a futile effort to get away.

He smiled. "Dr. Mackenzie was right. You're very quick."

"Dr. Mackenzie?" I echoed. Did Dr. Mackenzie have something to do with this? But how? General Hammond trusted him!

"He should keep his files under better security," he said. "He wrote that you were astonishingly intelligent with an IQ of one-ninety plus, and that it would never take you long to figure something out. We thought that he was embellishing those reports he wrote on you, but it seems he was not. Your results from Washington are the same."

I remembered my visit to the lab and all the questions they'd asked me and the IQ test they'd given me. Ah. It made sense.

"He wrote it down as one-ninety plus since he wasn't quite sure what your IQ was, but he was certain that it was above one-ninety," he continued, watching me tug at my restraints. "You're a genius, Mr. Quinn."

"Hooray for me," I said facetiously. "I'm sure that there are a lot of geniuses out there. Why kidnap me?"

"Well, you're the only genius we know of who's from another planet," he explained. "That makes you all the more remarkable."

I had my answers. The NID had kidnapped me, and they had kidnapped me because I was from another planet. (I didn't believe his talk about being a "genius." If I were really so smart, I would have figured a way out of there as soon as I had woken up.) Now the only questions I had were about what was going to happen to me. Would they try to keep me indefinitely, would they kill me to keep me from telling the SGC who had taken me, or would they let me go after a while? Would I be tortured for answers? Would they try to brainwash me? What would happen?

"You've become awfully quiet," he said, looking at me. (I had a sudden vision of a cat eyeing a bird.) "What are you thinking about?"

"I'm thinking about what's going to happen," I replied honestly. "What will you people do to me?"

He smiled, and the cat-bird analogy became all the more apt. "What do you think?"

"I wouldn't have asked if I knew."

He smiled again, and I had to fight down the urge to kick him again. "We're going to try to learn all that we can about you, Mr. Quinn," he said, leaning back in his chair. "You'll answer our questions whether you want to or not."

I didn't want to think about that too deeply. I didn't like "whether you want to or not."


	4. Chapter 4

4

Clearly, I was in trouble. Kidnapped by the NID and being held who-knew-where and with the threat of…I didn't know what hanging over me. Fabulous. I was a goner. Doomed.

I hoped someone at the SGC would remember to feed the fish in Dr. Jackson's office.

"You're quiet again," he said, regarding me with that annoying little smile of his. "And you've stopped tugging at your restraints. A penny for your thoughts?"

I looked at him. "Huh?" I knew what a penny was; it was a small, copper-colored coin that was worth one-hundredth of a dollar. It was the smallest increment of currency that the United States had. Was he offering me a penny? Did he want me to give him one? Why, though? Surely he had his own pennies!

"Ah, I forgot. You wouldn't be acquainted with such a saying, would you? 'A penny for your thoughts' is another way of inviting someone of sharing what he is thinking."

"I'm not really thinking anything," I said, fighting down a feeling of overwhelming panic. "All of this is a lot to take in, and right now, I'm trying to make sense of it. What could the NID possibly hope to learn from me? I'm…nothing and no one special, other than being from Kelowna. I don't understand."

"I think you do," he said, rising from his chair. "Well! Enough of this verbal sparring, it isn't helping you feel better, and I'm sure you must be miserable from that drug. You've been asleep for a couple of days."

"I have?" I had thought that I'd been asleep for the rest of Friday night. "What day is it now?"

"It's Monday evening."

I felt my throat close up. That drug had kept me asleep for that much time? The rest of Friday night, all of Saturday and Sunday and during the day on Monday? One shot had had that effect on me? It made sense. I had probably not moved all that time, so I was sore from being in the same position. Likewise, I hadn't had any chance to eat or drink. So, that was why I was thirsty and why I had such a headache.

"You could have killed me," I said, staring at him in horror. "Giving me that much of a drug could have killed me. It could have killed anyone. What sort of person…?" I trailed off, too shocked to keep talking.

"It wouldn't have killed you; it was only designed to keep you asleep, which was what it did. Now, if you promise not to cause any trouble, I'll have someone bring you a meal and something to drink, and your hands will be freed. Then, you'll be able to wash and change clothes, and after that we'll talk some more. All right?"

"What if I say that it isn't all right?" I wanted to know.

"Then we put you on an intravenous drip to give you liquids and nutrients, and we give you a good dose of sodium pentothal, and we'll have our little chat with you without your help. Either way, you'll answer our questions."

I croaked a little laugh. "Truth serum? How cliché. You're making this whole situation sound like a bad movie." Fear was making me more than a little slap-happy, and I could tell that I was saying things that were very dangerous.

"Either way, Mr. Quinn," he said darkly. "Your choice."

I chose the meal and the chance to wash and change clothes. While _he_ stayed in his chair and watched, someone—an orderly?—brought me a covered tray and freed my hands so I could eat. There was a large bowl of soup, a sandwich, and he also brought me a pitcher of ice water. The first thing I put in my stomach was some water, drunk in little sips. I waited for the soup to cool, giving my stomach a chance to get used to having something in it again. When the water didn't make an immediate reappearance, I started on the soup, and I felt a pang of actual homesickness for Cheyenne Mountain. It was chicken noodle soup, complete with vegetables, bits of chicken, noodles, and broth. I remembered the first meal I'd had with Sam, and I wondered what was going on there now. I pushed those thoughts away. I could drive myself crazy with them and doing that would make me hysterical. Being hysterical would make me careless, and being careless led to trouble.

I ate the sandwich after finishing the soup, and I had some more water. Then, the orderly brought me towels, soap, and shampoo, and I disappeared into the shower. The hot water felt very good, and for the better part of an hour I scrubbed away the feeling of the NID. I knew that as soon as I started talking to _him_ again the feeling would come back No matter; I could have another shower later. I even brushed my teeth and combed my hair after I changed into fresh scrubs identical to the ones I'd woken up wearing. For the first time I was given slippers (they were almost the same as white canvas tennis shoes, but without a thick sole) which were a relief to my cold feet. I returned to the bedroom, and a man in a white coat was standing by my bed, talking to _him._ _He _saw me and waved me over, at the same time introducing me to the man in the white coat.

This man breathed "doctor." However, I did not get the feeling of trust from him that I got from Janet Frasier. Instead, I became very nervous. I did not like the way this man looked at me, as if he wanted to take me apart and see what made me tick. "Frankenstein" suddenly flashed in my head, and images of mad scientists.

"This is Dr. Black, Mr. Quinn," _he_ said as I drew nearer. "He's going to look you over and he'll do what he can about your head and sore muscles."

I sat on the edge of my bed while he looked at my head and shined a pen light in my eyes. He said that some pain pills would help my head and there was no concussion or other complications to worry about, and then he started to examine the rest of me. He ran his hands over my arms and shoulders, and then he had me walk back and forth while he watched. He said that my hot shower had started to unknot my muscles, but to really fix the problem I would need a full massage and some therapeutic stretching done. The thirstiness would fade once I replenished my fluids.

"I'd like to have our masseuse work on him," Dr. Black said, jotting a few things down in a folder that he'd brought with him. "I'll send her up."

"All right," _he_ said. "Tonight?"

"Of course. I'll head down there and let her know she's needed."

Apparently, I wasn't given a choice in the matter. I did not relish the thought of a member of the NID _touching_ me and giving me a massage, but I hurt enough to know that I needed it. Those aches could mean the difference between getting away and being caught again if I got a chance to escape. While Mr. Gray (I called him that since he wore a gray suit, and it was easier than thinking _him_ or _he_ all the time) sat in his chair and asked me questions about my life in the SGC, I sat on my bed and gave noncommittal or monosyllabic answers. What did I do at the SGC? Nothing much. Did I like General Hammond? Yes. Why? He was nice. Did I have anything to complain about in my treatment at the SGC? No. Was I sure? Yes. Were they planning on putting me on an SG team? Not that I knew of. What sort of things was I forced to do in exchange for asylum? (I fought down the urge to glare at him and kept staring at my toes. Was he trying to trick me into putting down the SGC? Please.) I was forced to do nothing. What did I think about SG-1? They were nice. What about Dr. Jackson? They'd heard he was dead. Wasn't that right? Yes, that was right. I had liked him, and I was sorry that he was dead. Hadn't it been my fault he died?

The masseuse arrived then, saving me from having to try answering that question. She was lugging a folded-up table (?) and a bag full of gear. She was a tiny thing, and she set up the table and unpacked her gear without a word, but she nodded politely to Mr. Gray as she approached me and held out a robe. With no inflection at all she told me to go and slip out of my clothes and into the robe. I went into the bathroom and did as she told me, and when I came out again Mr. Gray was gone.

"Disrobe and lay on the table on your stomach, please," she said, rubbing something onto her hands.

I disrobed and lay down as she asked while she took out a sheet from her bag. She turned as if to lay it over me, but she stopped. "You were supposed to remove all of your clothes," she said. "It isn't necessary to keep your underclothes on."

"There is no way I'm going to be completely naked in an NID stronghold if I'm not in the shower," I told her flatly. "Besides, I might make someone jealous." At least my sense of humor hadn't stopped working, but I wondered if that joke hadn't been a bit much. Instead of being seen as funny, she might have thought me just crude. It was hard to gauge her reactions.

She stared at me, surprised, but she draped me with the sheet anyway and started the massage. A few hours later I was feeling much better: She'd rubbed my muscles, applied damp, hot towels, pulled at my arms and legs, and realigned my spine. While she worked she kept up a monologue of inane chatter to distract me from what she was doing. She spent the whole time telling me that her name was Julia, she was a chiropractor and massage therapist, and that my vertebrae needed to be put back into place and my muscles would unknot and stop aching as she worked. The stiffness would fade during the massage, and the hot towels would ease the aches. By the time she finished I felt as if I'd been given a brand-new body and I was half-asleep.

"All done," she said at last, removing the sheet and draping me with the robe. "You can go change now, Mr. Quinn."

I did as she suggested and when I emerged from the bathroom she was putting away the last of her gear. "Thanks. I feel a million times better," I told her, moving much more freely than I had been.

"It's my job. You can keep the robe since I'm certain I'll be seeing you again," she said, zipping her bag. Then, she turned and looked at me. "Who was it who might have been jealous?"

It took me a moment to remember my joke. "Mr. Gray," I said lightly. "You know, the guy in the gray suit."

She smiled, said nothing, and left.

Mr. Gray came in not twenty seconds after that, and he gave me the strangest look. "Jealous?"

"Oh, in the name of Kelowna," I said, surprised. "How did you hear that?"

"We have cameras on you," he said, sitting down in his chair.

I felt like kicking him and then myself. Of course they would have cameras on me. It was standard procedure at the SGC. By this point I'd learned not to let the cameras in the SGC bother me, but now I'd have to watch what I did and said. Great. Just great.

An orderly came then, carrying a small paper cup, which he handed to me. He explained to Mr. Gray that the doctor had sent him up with some pain pills for my head. I took the cup and looked at them, and I thanked all of my lucky stars individually by name that I had once helped Dr. Frasier and some of the nurses clean and reorganize the dispensary where they kept medical supplies and medicines. During those few days I had learned to recognize the medicines the SGC used by sight, and I knew all possible pain medications. These were common pills, and they were nothing more than acetaminophen tablets. I swallowed them gratefully and washed them down with a cup full of water. I was still thirsty, but no one seemed ready to take the water pitcher away from me. The orderly even brought me another one filled to the brim with water and ice, and said that if I needed more I only had to hit the button for someone to come.

I looked at Mr Gray for an explanation. "Button?"

He pointed to some little gadget hanging on my bed. "It will ring out at the orderlies' station and someone will come to see what you need."

I nodded. Okay, I had a way to call for help if I needed it. Great.

"Now, Mr. Quinn," Mr. Gray said, sitting down at the table and motioning me to take the chair across from him. "We have some things to talk about."

"Another interrogation, then?" I said, sitting down. "I don't know what else I can tell you. You're already asked me a ton of questions."

"Well, we have more, and since you just woke up and won't be going back to sleep for a while, why don't we start work now?"

"Work?" I didn't understand what he meant.

"I'm authorized to tell you our plans for you," he said.

"Oh, goody."

He ignored that. "We have a great many questions, as I've said before. We'll be asking you many things about your home, about the people living there, your society, and about you. You can answer the questions or not as you wish, but the longer it takes you to answer, the longer you will be here in this room. Look about you," he said, waving his hand in a broad gesture that included the whole room. "There's not too much in here, is there?"

"Well, the décor _is_ rather boring," I conceded.

"Yes. The only thing you'll have to relieve your boredom is answering questions. You'll be brought nothing to read or look at, and you'll have nothing to do. Also, you'll have to answer them truthfully, for we can tell if you are lying or not."

I thought about that, and my future prospects did not look promising. "What happens after I answer all of your questions? What are your plans then? Give me a lethal injection and then donate my body to your scientists?"

He laughed, and I came so close to punching out those perfect teeth of his. "Certainly not. We're not about to waste a valuable asset."

"So? What are you going to do?" I prompted.

He smiled and looked at me. "Nervous?"

"I'd have to be brain-dead not to be."

"Once you've answered every question we have for you, then you'll be transferred to a location in the Smokies. It's quite a pleasant spot to live, actually. A log cabin style house with every comfort on the shores of a lake up in the mountains. Comfortable and secluded. You'll have the best food and care, and you won't lack for things to do, I can promise you. If you wish a certain luxury or item, it will be obtained for you."

I was certain he could hear my heart, and I could have sworn he smiled when he did.

"Think of it, Mr. Quinn. It will be much more pleasant than living inside a mountain all your days. You can't go back to Kelowna; we know that. You'd be executed if you tried. You'll have a lovely view, the open sky above you, fresh air, and a place to call your own. I could bring you pictures of it, if you like."

I shook my head. "Would I have my freedom? It sounds to me that I would be exchanging one prison for another."

"Isn't Cheyenne Mountain as much of a prison?" he countered. "You can't leave without an escort."

"That's for safety," I reminded him. "I'm an alien, after all. How could your government be certain that I wouldn't get into trouble if I didn't have someone with me? Lots of people end up in accidents or difficulties. I don't even know most of the rules or social conventions for this society. I could get into trouble or cause problems because of my lack of knowledge."

"But still, you're a prisoner in Cheyenne Mountain. Just as much of a prisoner as you are now, in fact."

"Ah, you're wrong, there," I pointed out. "Very wrong. I _chose_ to run to the SGC. I trusted the people there. Not once in my time at the SGC have I ever had to worry about my safety or well-being. Every person in that base has been kind to me and not once was I drugged or locked up in a room or interrogated! If it comes to a matter of choosing prisons and jailers, then I choose SGC and the Air Force."

Mr. Gray looked at me very carefully then. "Am I right in thinking that you aren't ready to answer questions? You're not willing to cooperate?"

"Damn straight," I snapped.

He raised an eyebrow in surprise. "How on Earth did you hear that bit of slang?"

"I know Colonel O'Neill," I answered. "Hearing him talk is like getting an education in American speech."

Mr. Gray smirked. "All right, then. I'll have an orderly bring some sodium pentathol."

"No!"

"Then, you're willing to answer my questions?"

I hesitated, uncertain of what to do. I didn't want to talk to him, but then again, I didn't want to be drugged again and have no control over what I said. What if they asked things about the SGC that I _had_ to keep secret? What if they asked me about Dr. Jackson? What if they found out about the weapons that Kelowna was building? What if they found a way to go there and started to exploit the entire planet?

I could try bargaining. I'd heard one of the SFs say to another that everyone had a price. Perhaps they'd take personal information over other types of information? Those scientists in Washington had asked very personal questions, after all. Perhaps the interest was still there. "I'll answer any questions about me you want to ask, but there are certain things I won't tell you about Kelowna or the SGC."

He smiled again, and I knew that my ploy had been hopeless. "You'll answer _every_ question, Mr. Quinn."

I didn't know what to do. I had to keep some things secret because they _had_ to be secret, but what could I do if they asked about them? Would they really be able to tell that I was lying?

"We'd rather have your cooperation, Mr. Quinn," Mr. Gray said, suddenly. "You may not believe it, but we're trying to help you. The Air Force would have exploited you, given enough time. We'd like to save you from that."

"What, so you can drug me, interrogate me, and keep me prisoner in some place with a great view?"

"Would staying in the mountains be so awful, Mr. Quinn? Think about it," he said, getting up from his chair. "I'll give you tonight to think, and I'll see you in the morning."

He left, leaving me only with my thoughts for company.


	5. Chapter 5

5

Three days later, I was ready to crack. Mr. Gray came only long enough every day to ask if I were ready to answer questions, and when I told him I wasn't, he left again. The only other people I ever saw were the orderlies who brought me my meals. I had nothing to do, and I was bored, bored, bored. I had never gone this long without reading or otherwise exercising my mind. I ate, did exercises every day, meditated when I could, washed, and I slept. There was nothing else to do. Sometimes I showered more than once during the day just to kill time. It seemed that the only occupation I had was to wait.

There was one good thing that reassured me. Mr. Gray had not made good on his threat to use sodium pentathol on me or any other sort of "truth drug." I began to get a feeling that he was allowed to threaten me with it, but he wasn't allowed to actually use it. So, that meant that someone else was in charge of Mr. Gray. That was heartening.

It did nothing to alleviate my boredom, though. I couldn't help contrasting my surroundings with a possible house by a lake, and I was sure that I was meant to do so. After all, they _wanted_ me to be bored and perhaps motivated to answer their questions so I could gain some change in scenery. The only worry in my mind was how long I could hold out. I had to stay sane until the SGC found me, for I was certain that they were looking for me. After all, their unspoken motto was "We don't leave our people behind." Unbidden came the thought that I wasn't one of their "people." Whenever that thought came to torment me I pushed it away ruthlessly and ignored it. It would do me no good to torture myself with "might-bes" and "maybes."

One other break I had in my daily monotony was the visit of the masseuse, Julia. She told me that I needed several massages to ensure that the good she had done with the first massage would last, so once a day I entrusted myself to her hands that worked magic on my muscles. Usually she came in the evening, about an hour or two before I headed to bed, and I was certain that those massages helped me relax enough to sleep. We didn't really talk much beyond "Let me know if anything hurts" or "Do you feel stiff or loose?" I was mindful of the cameras they had on me.

I had spent about six or seven days there waiting before I was certain I was going to lose my mind if I didn't talk to someone soon. It was in the afternoon and I was trying to meditate, but my mind kept jumping around and I couldn't focus or calm myself enough to even get into the right frame of mind. I had to talk to someone, and something had to change, or the solitude would drive me crazy. Worse yet, my stomach and my head were hurting from stress, and those symptoms meant that it wouldn't be long before I stopped thinking clearly and just started reacting. No, I had to keep my head clear, and I made my decision. If they asked me a question that I couldn't answer, I would go silent until they realized that there were some things that I wouldn't answer. True, they could leave me alone until I started to go crazy again, but I was certain that they would prefer me sane to crazy. They would change the situation themselves if they wanted me mentally sound.

"Mr. Gray," I said, rising from my spot on the floor. "I'm ready to talk if you are, but I would like to ask you questions, too."

A minute later my door opened. He came in carrying a manila folder and a few sheets and photos. "High time," he said, closing the door behind him and heading toward the table. "You had me worried, Mr. Quinn."

"I did?"

"Yes," he said, waving me to a seat. "We'll start with questions about you, shall we?"

"Why not?" I muttered. At least he hadn't wanted to know the inner workings of the Kelownan government or the SGC!

By this time we were both sitting at the table, and he opened the folder. "Okay, first question. What is your full name?"

"Jonas Quinn," I told him. "I have no other name."

"How old are you in Earth years?"

"Uh, I asked Sam about that almost a week after I came, and she gave me the information and I did the calculations, and it appears that I am twenty-seven and some odd months."

He nodded. "All right. What about your family? Your parents?"

For the next three hours, he asked questions and I answered. I told him that my parents had both died a few years back, about six months apart from one another. My childhood had been fairly normal, with no great trauma, illnesses, or injuries. While I'd been a child my parents had paid to have me attend the best school in our district. I had no siblings and no other relatives since both sets of parents had been only children and their parents had died before I was born. I had made top grades in school and entered the university two years ahead of schedule. My father had been a teacher and my mother had been an artist, specializing in pottery. When asked what I'd studied in elementary school, I replied that I had studied grammar, literature, history, arithmetic, science, art, and self-defense. In secondary school (that came after elementary) I studied the same subjects in more detail, and had elective courses in the social sciences, political science, diplomacy, and etiquette. I remarked that the courses in etiquette were not always useful on Earth since it was Kelownan etiquette. However, certain aspects of the classes were useful when meeting people and establishing diplomatic relations.

No, I had not had many friends growing up since I was always busy studying or helping the professors at school. I did have a few friends my age, but overall I preferred the company of my teachers. As for significant relationships, suffice to say that I'd had a few, and I was not going to go any deeper than that. That was strictly my business, and I was not going to elucidate on them.

"We may ask you to do just that later on, Mr. Quinn," Mr. Gray said, jotting down my answer into the folder.

"Then you people will just have to get used to disappointment," I answered.

My career as special advisor to the High Minister had been fairly normal, except that I had been a very _young_ special advisor. My employer and I had the usual superior-subordinate relationship, and we'd never socialized outside of work. By the time SG-1 had arrived, I'd been promised a promotion to a position that had a bit of authority, with later promotions in the future if I continued to do well. No, I hadn't been sure if that was what I had really wanted, and I still wasn't sure. Had I wanted to become a politician? No, I really preferred being a scholar. That was much more fun that trying to satisfy everyone.

Mr. Gray noted that down, fighting a smile. I ignored it.

When he asked what I did at the SGC, I told him that I did mostly what Dr. Jackson had done: I did translations, briefed teams on cultures and languages, and gave presentations for needed background information, such as mythology and history. No, they did not plan on putting me on an SG team—at least, I did not think so—but I was happy to do the work. Why? It was something that I could do and was good at, why else? What did I think about the Ga'ould? They were slimy little snakes. What about the Replicators? From what I'd heard and read, they were better in pieces. What about the NID? I couldn't repeat what I'd heard about them, but I thought they were foul, evil little kidnappers. Mr. Gray understood why I felt that way, and I didn't need to elaborate.

It went on like that for what seemed like days. Sometimes he would repeat questions, as if to see if I would change my answers. Always, even if I could not remember what I'd said, I tried to make my responses as similar as possible. I needed to present a picture of consistency, because everything else was going merrily to hell. I began to lose track of time. Sometimes it would seem as if Mr. Gray had only been with me for a half-hour, and he'd get up as if he were very tired, saying that it had been about four or five hours that we'd been talking. Other times Julia would come and give me a massage, I would lay down to sleep, and an hour later I would be woken up by an orderly who would ask me what I wanted for lunch since I'd said that I hadn't wanted breakfast (of course, I didn't remember saying so). Sometimes meals would come very close together or very far apart (at least, they seemed to) and often Mr. Gray would leave me on my own for a while, usually what felt like an hour or two. Then, he would come back and wish me a good morning and ask me how I'd passed the night, but I could not remember sleeping or even being tired. How could it be a new day?

I did not confide any of my worries to anyone. The last thing I needed Mr. Gray to know was that I was losing track of time and questioning my own sanity. Since I was not allowed writing materials I could not divulge my suspicions to paper, and I had a feeling that doing so would have made a difference. I had no way to organize my thoughts beyond meditation, and I had no one to talk to and there was no one I dared trust. It wasn't long before my nerves began to feel as if someone had been at them with sandpaper. I knew I had to get out of there soon before I lost my mind, but how could I do that? I was watched too well.

Unexpectedly, I received a chance. Mr. Gray came in and stood in the doorway, talking over his shoulder to an orderly about something. I don't know what made me do it, but I rushed him and pushed past him, running down the hall with all of the speed I could muster. I could hear shouting behind me and people chasing me, but I kept going. Somehow, I found a staircase, and from what I could see from the windows I'd passed, I was up on one of the higher floors of the building. I headed down as fast as I could go, sometimes jumping whole flights, but as I reached the second or third floor, I was tackled by orderlies and dragged screaming and kicking and swearing back to my room. I was given something to make me sleep, and when I woke I was in bed and back in restraints. Mr. Gray was not happy, but my time outside my room had allowed me to see _outside_. The terrain I'd been able to see was like what I'd seen of Colorado, so it stood to reason that I was still reasonably near Cheyenne Mountain and reasonably near to rescue.

"What did you think you were doing?" Mr. Gray demanded, glaring at me.

"I was thinking of escaping," I said, perfectly willing to be honest. "You didn't think I would just sit here and let a chance pass by, did you?"

"Actually, I was hoping that you'd accepted being in NID custody."

I laughed. "You're fooling yourself, and all of the people who are in charge of you are fooling themselves."

He glared at me again. "You sound as if you wouldn't mind being kept here for the rest of your life, Mr. Quinn. Another stunt like that would ensure it."

"Would it, now?"

He nodded. "It would. You'd be too dangerous to keep in the mountains, and they may decide to keep you here or in a similar facility. Think about that."

He left, leaving me to think, but I did not think about his implied threat. No, I was thinking about what I'd seen outside. I had seen other buildings nearby, and in the distance I'd spotted mountains. They looked similar to the Rockies, and I'd seen what looked like two (or more?) rivers intersecting. Also, I'd seen a sign mentioning Colorado State University, telling drivers how to get there. I had to be somewhere still in Colorado. Quickly, I imagined the state map of Colorado I'd memorized, and I realized that there would only be one place like that in Colorado. I almost laughed when I realized how close I still was to Colorado Springs and Cheyenne Mountain. I was in a city called Pueblo, just south of the SGC.

Now, I just had to hope that the SGC would figure out where I was, or even better still, that I could get a message to them.


End file.
